


love and a cough

by whitemiists



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Near Future, Reunions, Sickfic, but not enough to warrant a tag, sugawara makes an appearance and is mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-10
Updated: 2016-02-10
Packaged: 2018-05-19 11:15:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5965237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitemiists/pseuds/whitemiists
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>“And the next thing on Sugawara’s list was these cute gummy vitamins,” she told him eagerly, pulling out two capped, plastic bottles that could last them well into the year. “He said to make <i>sure</i> to get these cute ones that are shaped like little bears because you love them so much. That’s so <i>cute,</i> Sawamura! I never would have expected that from you.”</p>
  <p>She laughed, while he internally made plans that involved fire and his best friend’s unsuspecting flyaway.</p>
</blockquote>Or, the one where Daichi comes down with the common cold and finds himself with a not-so-common nurse.
            </blockquote>





	love and a cough

_– “love and a cough cannot be hid” –_

* * *

 

His head throbbed, the ache traveling from the forefront of his temple to muscles he was never aware of on any common day until they were scorching like fire. A lump that had made his throat a home since that morning chose that particular moment to itch, and he groaned into the lining of his blankets pulled up to his nose. A miserable morning preceded by a miserable, choppy night, and the forecast for the remainder of the day was not any more welcoming.

There was another itch niggling in the backseat of his thoughts, that insufferable horror of missing a day’s worth of lessons just to ward off some common illness that _should_ have only needed some soup and some vitamins to beat, yet had persisted for the entirety of the week until finally his roommate had declared him too sick for school, and frankly, too sick to be allowed to mingle with the general public.

“I’ll pick you up some more medicine on the way home,” Suga had told him in no uncertain terms, his tone clipped like reprimanding a misbehaving child — and Daichi had certainly felt like one, borrowing gummy vitamins from the mother who lived across the hall and drinking orange juice to flush his fever. _“Grownup_ medicine,” Suga had promised, since Daichi apparently could not handle the shame and for some goddamn reason his best friend could not keep a straight face about it.

“The worst tasting one there is,” Daichi had murmured after him, weakly, before the door had slid shut behind retreating footsteps and Suga’s snickers had disappeared down the hall.

So Daichi was petulant when he was sick. It was the one time he was allowed to be so, from the time when he’d been a child and his busy mother would specially take time off work to care for her son when he was ill (and _only_ when he was ill). He figured he’d earned this right to compensate for every other day of the year, when his head was on straight and not given the luxury to even tilt by a fraction.

He was not much enjoying the silence, however. At first it had been welcome; his head had instantaneously cleared when so had the bottled noises of the television, and for once the fog permeating his thoughts had settled when Suga had departed for classes with the promised grocery list in hand and Asahi’s new number scrawled on a piece of paper left beside Daichi’s pillow (just how _did_ that boy manage to break so many of his phones?).

But now, the silence was as unwanted as fever-induced nightmares. In the quiet he could not help imagining important classes he would be missing, the first afternoon practice he would have to skip as his days as a college student, the week’s worth of weight training he’d already have to make up to regain the muscle mass he was sure he had lost in the form of sweat due to this inconvenient illness. Silence was most unwelcome right now.

He fidgeted in his snug futon, staring at the ceiling, trying to force air through his uncooperative nose.

Then, there was a muffled knock on the door.

He glanced towards his own, not seeing a silhouette past the paper barrier, and realized a visitor must have arrived at the front door. It couldn’t be Suga; even if he had forgotten his key, it was much too early in the day for him to be anywhere but in class, certainly not anywhere near their apartment. Perhaps it was Asahi, proving himself to not be useless after all; he had tried to call the big lug earlier only to get a dial tone.

He pulled himself up with great difficulty, fumbling with the house slippers as he went, and swore Asahi would pay for every muscle ache shooting up his legs with each shuffle of his feet.

“I _swear,_ you punk,” he groused, unlatching their lock, “that if you don’t get your shit worked out with your phone company by next month, I will _personally_ come snap your phone in two the next time you don’t pick up—”

The words backpedaled into his throat, hiding behind a barrier to save face like _he_ most certainly wanted to do right now.

Curious, brown eyes stared back at him, doe-like in innocence as they asked politely with each blink, each flutter of her fairy eyelashes, whether he had really been speaking to her. A little uselessly, she held up the steaming carton in her hands towards him.

“Um, I brought congee? And” — some odd digging into her pocket later, she procured her phone and flipped it open for him to see that it was in perfectly working order and that a cartoon panda took up a large portion of her home screen — “my phone works just fine! So can I come in?”

“Uh…” Coherency wasn’t his strong point when he was sick. “Yeah, s-sure.”

Michimiya beamed as she was allowed passage, and Daichi eyed the several or so grocery bags at her feet that she scooped up before shuffling inside. He only had Suga’s house slippers to offer her, but she didn’t seem to mind as she kicked off her trainers.

“You look terrible, Sawamura!” she told him cheerily, as he led her towards the kitchen for her to dump her shopping, dodging out of the way when he offered to carry some. “Nuh-uh, you’re sick! Act more like a patient, would you? Maybe you should go sit down and I’ll go dump some of this congee in a bowl for you?”

She began rummaging through their kitchen cabinets in search of one, while Daichi stood uselessly at the doorway.

“Not to be rude or anything,” he began weakly, his head spinning, “but why are you…?”

A part of him had wondered whether he was seeing a sort of fever-induced mirage, one he could touch and smell the citrusy perfume of when she walked under his nose. Surely this was not Michimiya Yui wandering so brazenly through his apartment, like it was a normal occurrence and not a reunion after so-many months?

The last memory he had of her was at Suga’s birthday dinner, not a night that was particularly memorable since Suga had never been one who liked having a fuss made about him, and since Daichi was sure Suga’s birthday celebrations had constituted a nice dinner and not much else since the day he had exited the womb. It was a celebration like every other year he had known him, except that Michimiya had sat across from him at the table (another reunion after months in between) and he’d raved about the best damn ramen he’d had in his life the whole next morning. The only difference between then and now was that Michimiya’s hair was slightly longer (he was eighty percent sure) and they hadn’t had a single bit of contact since.

“Oh, did Sugawara not call ahead?” she said, her voice muffled as she dug through one of the lower drawers. “I ran into him this morning on my jog and he asked me to drop by. He didn’t tell you?”

“Uhh…” He’d spent the better part of an hour trying to call Asahi and leaving threatening messages on his answering machine. The best bet was Suga had tried then and was blocked by a busy tone. Daichi was sheepish. “No, no calls.”

“He’s a bit of a scatterbrain, huh!” Yui exclaimed, expressing surprise. “Well, see, he was in a big rush to class and he dropped this gigantic grocery list in front of me. And when I picked it up for him, he told me you were sick! And from the way he was going on, it was _really_ bad and you were _miserable_ and someone needed to look in on you, except he was really busy and I was free, and so—!” She gestured to herself with one hand, an action that seemed to say, _Here I am._

Daichi continued to hover a bit helplessly. “You don’t have class?”

Michimiya, he knew, attended the quaint all-girls college only several blocks down from his own, and probably the proximity of their post high school destinations was the only reason they had not become completely estranged. It was a sad thought, but it had happened with many people he had called _friend_ back during his Karasuno days. He and Michimiya, at least, saw each other once in a blue moon (even if things weren’t really the same) and were close enough to take advantage if they wanted to (though they never had).

“Cancelled,” she sing-songed, _finally_ hitting the jackpot when she pulled open a narrow cabinet and found their bowls neatly stacked. “The professor’s wife went into labor so he cancelled class for the rest of the week! And I don’t know if he’s really allowed to, but I’m not complaining!”

Her laugh echoed through Daichi’s hollow kitchen, filling the space as she moved about. Daichi couldn’t resist a smile of his own, and he knew this was the full extent of Michimiya’s superpower; he felt a little less awful on the inside too.

“And what are _you_ smiling about, mister?” she teased, a hand going to her hip. “You should be resting. Go sit, I’ll bring you your food.”

His protests fell to adamantly guarded ears, as Michimiya all but pushed him herself towards the living room and ushered him to the couch, where she fluffed one cushion to prop him against before bouncing back into the kitchen. He heard her moving around in there, and once again, a smile was impossible to contain, even if he only grinned it up at the empty ceiling.

“Good thing I bought some green onion,” she called conversationally from the kitchen. “Sugawara told me about the horrendous state of your empty fridge!”

“Michimiya, you really didn’t have to go to all this trouble—”

“Since when were you _ever_ trouble, Sawamura?”

She hummed as she rounded the corner, just in time to send him a pointed look to match her words, and Daichi wondered when exactly being around Michimiya had started feeling like getting hit with the full beam of the sun’s personality, or like flowers petals curling in to cover their faces, all at once.

“I know you and every boy on the planet loves meat,” she laughed, setting down the tray between them, “but I figured something softer might be better for your throat. Sugawara mentioned you’ve been having a bad cough?”

“N-Not really,” he tried to defend himself — from _what_ he was not sure, but seeming so pathetic in front of Michimiya for the first time was not a feeling he particularly enjoyed.

But his throat had gone traitor a week ago, and it was of course at that moment that something burned like arson at the back of his mouth and the words came out instead like a hack, before a coughing fit into his hand had Michimiya rushing to hand him the porridge.

 _“See?”_ she scolded, scooching a little closer on the couch. “Don’t try to play the tough guy, Sawamura. You can’t hide anything from me!”

His answering groan was weak. “I wasn’t really…”

The spoon clattering against the side of the bowl was stronger than his strained voice, before Michimiya was bringing porridge to his mouth. He could smell the salt mixed with the aroma of what flavoring she had added, a pile of chopped green onions at the top making his stomach cave in. Truth was, he hadn’t stomached much of anything these days.

Michimiya grinned when he reluctantly took a bite, accepting the bowl as he mumbled, “It’s good.”

“Then please finish all of it!” she ordered, and laughed when he fell nimbly back on the couch.

 

 

 

 

He’d stopped resisting, for now.

It was different when it was Suga he made miserable with his ill demands, and it was different when it was Michimiya’s sunny smile greeting him at every turn. He didn’t want to make trouble for her when she’d specially made the trip, and, well, he didn’t want her seeing how spoiled he had become after a week of solid bedrest.

His sensible plans, however, had apparently been dashed before she had even arrived. Damn that Suga.

Michimiya had brought over her purchases to plop down on his table and then burrowed her legs under his kotatsu, beckoning him over with his porridge as well. They turned it on to low heat, to ward off the sudden chill that hung in the air lately due to the changing of the seasons — most likely the reason for his sickness in the first place — and was now plowing through the groceries she had brought him as well as slowly churning his stomach with embarrassment. Unknowingly, of course.

“And the next thing on Sugawara’s list was these cute gummy vitamins,” she told him eagerly, pulling out two capped, plastic bottles that could last them well into the year. “He said to make _sure_ to get these cute ones that are shaped like little bears because you love them so much. That’s so _cute,_ Sawamura! I never would have expected that from you.” She laughed, while he internally made plans that involved fire and his best friend’s unsuspecting flyaway. “I got grape and cherry flavors since, I don’t know, strawberry didn’t seem like your taste? Or was I wrong?”

He choked down his pride along with a spoonful of porridge, before mumbling around it, “That’s fine.” It was worth it to see Michimiya relax, a hand over her heart as she breathed out.

“Then there’s two cartons of orange juice, with pulp and without, since Sugawara said sometimes you get really choosy about which one you’re in the mood for. He also said you’ve been wanting fruit, but we didn’t think something too sour would be good for your throat, so I bought these apples and Sugawara mentioned it might be nice to cut them into bunny apples, but I don’t know, I’ve never done it before so I might not be good at it, but I’ll give it a try!”

Daichi loudly banged his spoon against his bowl as he ate, making so much noise it might drown out his mortification.

“I’m not usually this picky, I swear,” he mumbled under his breath.

She absentmindedly patted his hand. His stomach did a funny flip-flop he assumed was his innards adjusting to being given substantial food after too long a time. “Don’t worry about it, Sawamura. You spend so much time always taking care of everyone else, but finally we can return the favor. And besides, when you’re sick is the time you really _need_ friends around to spoil you.”

His thumb dug into the rim of his bowl, but he didn’t feel the sensation. “What exactly are you returning the favor for, Michimiya?”

She blinked. _“Ehh?_ You mean you really don’t know? Everything you’ve done for me?”

Daichi sifted through his thoughts, replaying old memories with Michimiya. It was true he and Michimiya had been together for a long time, and several of the memories they shared were significant. He remembered a particularly memorable cultural festival at Izumidate, when they had danced at the bonfire (though Michimiya had _insisted_ it was because he was the only boy she knew well enough to hold hands with, her face rose red from, what he had assumed at the time, the heat of the bonfire; it was only years later that Suga had lectured him about how hand-holding meant a much more intimate gesture to girls than it did to boys whose brains had been modified to receive all signals through a volleyball instead).

But while that was a nice memory, and he had dozens more like it, Daichi couldn’t see how that could warrant Michimiya looking at him with such fondness in her eyes, a cheek pressed to one knuckle as she watched his face contort from the confusion and only grow more affectionate the more he didn’t understand.

“So you really never realized? And still…?” Fingers of hers brushed against the fringe protruding over his forehead, not minding the stickiness of sweat that had beaded along the outline. “Sawamura, I really hope I can be as kind as you some day.”

Maybe it was the fever demanding notice, Daichi thought, when she left behind a trail of fire everywhere she touched.

“Ahh, I didn’t realize you were so warm,” she noted, sounding concerned. Suddenly it was the back of her knuckles that fanned over his temple, feeling for his temperature. “Maybe all this excitement isn’t good for you.”

Daichi did feel as if everything contained within his skin had floated away, leaving behind nothing but haze to cloud his senses, but he wasn’t about to admit that to Michimiya. “I’ll go lie down after this,” he promised, shoving the last few morsels of congee into his mouth.

But he made to get to his feet in one grand sweep, hands thudding on the tabletop before pulling himself up, and instantly swayed in a dangerously jilted motion. His head throbbed, _hard._

Michimiya jumped to her feet as well, a reflexive reaction, and brought her arms around his waist. “Careful, Sawamura,” she gasped, alarmed. “I knew it, it’s too much excitement. Let’s get you to bed.”

He felt a little pathetic, again. Michimiya had slight shoulders that disappeared under the weight of his bulky arms, tiny hands that were nothing compared to his sturdy waist, and yet here she was supporting all of him when his own feet could not. Her grip was strong, secure, and he wondered whether all captains had these sort of hands or whether they were hands to match the stubbornly strong-willed Michimiya he knew.

“I’ve got you,” she assured him, bringing one of his arms around her shoulder blades. They began an awkward shuffle towards his bedroom.

“Sorry, I, er, probably smell like sweat,” he murmured. He’d probably never felt more like a bumbling mess than at this moment, he thought, especially when he swayed again and Michimiya matched his misstep to steady him.

She wrinkled her nose, not unkindly. “Sawamura, I’ve spent probably half my life if not more in a gym. Do you think sweat bothers me at this point?”

“It might when it’s a week old,” he admitted, embarrassed. He’d tried to shower once, but the steam had caused his head to spin and Suga had promptly banned him from showers until his sickness was no longer a slipping hazard.

Michimiya grinned cheekily. “Just adds to your character, Sawamura. The sweat of a fighter.”

 _Ahh,_ Daichi thought. So Michimiya’s hands matched her after all; strong but so very kind.

Their awkward two-step stumble finally came to a halt before his bedroom door. Daichi was entirely too winded and leaning too heavily on Michimiya after a short walk down a hallway, and he was grateful to see the end in sight so he could lift the burden of himself off of her.

But his fingers had only brushed the handle when she stiffened underneath him, giving him pause. Upon closer inspection, her face had pinched in a way that spoke of uncertainty, her gaze straying to her wiggling toes.

He frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“…So, it’s okay?” she asked in a small voice, then cleared her throat. “To go in?”

His eyebrows met in the middle to ponder her sudden hesitation. He looked between her and the door, wondering if there was some invisible sign hanging on the paper barrier that his eyes could not see but read _No Girls Allowed_ in red, obnoxious letters—

… _Oh._

Now it was Daichi’s turn to clear his throat, a louder and an even more strained sound. “Y-Yeah, sure, it’s fine. I mean, my room’s not anything that special anyway, there’s even barely anything in there, and it’s not like anything is even going to happen— well—!”

He would have put his foot in his mouth if he wouldn’t have passed out from the energy it would require. It hadn’t occurred to him how brazen a move it was, to invite a girl into his bedroom alone, even when it was only as aid while he was not in the best state. He wondered when bold and unabashed Michimiya had become so aware about these sort of things.

He yanked upon his door if only to alleviate their sudden awkwardness, and was choked to find that he’d left his futon rumpled and tossed and a complete mess, of course in his haste to get to Asahi’s neck (only to find Michimiya at his door). The suggestion hung heavy in the air.

But Michimiya played her part well.

It seemed to take effort to play the façade of nonchalance, but her face did not crack. “Well, I’m a little relieved, Sawamura. This apartment was way too clean for having two guys living in it. This is a little more like it.”

“Only because I’m sick,” he defended himself, his stomach curling in shame at all the discarded tissue, empty juice boxes, and several game consoles he’d left unwound and tangled together in one corner of the room.

“Hmm.” She hummed vaguely, clearly holding back an amused smile, as they moved for his futon.

He was perfectly fine on his own, he swore, but she still insisted on settling him in, helping him under the blanket and tucking it over his arms. And he, surprisingly, did not mind being fussed over — not by Michimiya. When she hovered over him, face shrouded with concern, there was a sudden, overwhelming desire thrumming in tune to his heartbeat to tell her she was the only girl he had ever allowed on his futon.

“Hey, M’ch’miya?” he mumbled, shutting his eyes. Now that he was horizontal and cozied up, his eyes had started to burn and his head was definitely winding down for a nice rest. But still he had to ask, softly, “Why don’t we keep in touch?”

She stilled, and he missed her cool hand when it pulled away from his forehead. “Uh, I don’t know. I wanted to…”

“How come you live only fifteen minutes away but we barely see each other a couple times a year? This is your first time in our apartment, isn’t it?”

He thought he heard her hands wring, the sound of skin on skin. “I guess things are _different_ when you don’t have a reason to see each other every day.”

The corners of his mouth turned down. “They shouldn’t be.”

There was a beat of silence, and then she breathed in. Her voice shook. “Sometimes things are different because… we grow up a little… I guess.”

The frown deepened. He wanted to ask what she’d meant, why her voice had shriveled when it was usually so clear and decisive and bell-like. But thoughts were hard to form once his body had already decided it was time for a rest, and for once, he easily succumbed. All he managed in response was a low, easy hum.

 

 

 

 

Daichi swore he had only closed his eyes for a few seconds, just long enough to help the burning, but he awoke to a completely different room. No more tissues or trash or consoles were strewn about; instead all he found was a weary Michimiya wiping sheen off her forehead and looking mighty proud of herself. She’d discarded her sweater, and Daichi followed the slope of her bare shoulders.

She perked when finally her eyes landed on him. “How are you feeling?”

“You didn’t have to do all that,” was all he said, pulling himself up with great difficulty. It was only then that he noticed the tray resting at his side, a lidded cup of tea, that insufferable bottle of chewy child medicine, and several other things awaiting him.

“It was no problem,” she dismissed it, waving her hand about, and joined him at his bedside.

“Michimiya, I used all those tissues to blow my runny nose, you know.” Briefly he wondered just how many of his bodily fluids she would handle today — a horrifying thought.

“If I got grossed out by little things like that then I really shouldn’t be looking into a career about teaching kids, should I?” she replied, pointedly.

Daichi processed that slowly. So that was what Michimiya wanted to do in life. Finally he knew.

“Now drink your tea,” she ordered him, though her voice was sweet like he needed coddling (and somehow he didn’t mind). Steam escaped the cup like an active volcano spewing smoke when she popped off the lid, and he spied a slice of lemon floating at the surface. “It’s a good thing I bought ginger and honey, because you guys don’t even have _that._ What have you been eating with a fridge that empty?” When he hesitated to take a sip, she made an encouraging motion with her hand. “Go on, drink some! I promise it’s really good, and it’s good for you, too. My grandma is really into tea and herbal medicines and stuff, so she taught me a lot of home remedies. This’ll help a lot!”

The first sip down his throat was like a mother’s kiss on a small scrape on the knee: warm and soothing. His dour expression must have lifted tenfold, because Michimiya beamed bright.

“Okay, now have some apples!” she insisted next, too eager for him to try everything to wait any longer. “I tried cutting them into bunnies like Sugawara said, but I wasn’t really that good at it and, um, in the end I had to peel them all. Except this one!” She proudly gestured to the one slice of the bunch that had been allowed to keep its apple-skin-ears.

Daichi took one look at her face, brimming with anticipation, and plucked her proud achievement. His pride had no business here. “It’s the sweetest of them all,” he assured her, his face softening.

She stuck out her tongue. “It doesn’t work like that, silly.” But he could see she was filled up on pride even over something this simple, and a smile was impossible to contain.

(Smiles were always difficult to contain, always _had_ been, in Michimiya’s presence).

He even swallowed that damned vitamin, then was forced to admit he liked the grape flavor, and Michimiya laughed and called him cute. Daichi didn’t think he’d ever been called cute in his life, not since the age of seven, yet Michimiya had said so twice in one day.

“Now, I bought ice packs too, for your forehead,” she told him, rummaging through her bag. “And they were out of lozenges at the convenience store, believe it or not, but peppermint candy works just as well so I brought you a pack of those. Do you need anything else? Help going to the bathroom or something?”

The back of his neck burned. “Michimiya, I’m not an invalid.”

She deflated a bit at his stern tone, setting down the ice pack. “I know you’re not but… I just wanted to help since you’re sick.”  
  
Immediately he felt like a jerk. Here she was fussing over him when she had no obligation to, and he was embarrassed by all her kind thoughts. “I know you do. I’m sorry. But you don’t need to be going to so much trouble.”

She frowned, her eyebrows knitting in a stubborn way. “Sawamura, why are you so afraid of asking for help? Why else am I here but to do whatever you need to help you get better?”

“You’ve done enough already,” he tried to insist, but Michimiya’s nostrils had flared and that meant she was ready for a fight.

“Clearly I haven’t because you’re still sick! Sugawara said you’ve been acting spoiled with him all week, so why won’t you let me spoil you, too?”

He sighed wearily, no strength in him to have this argument. “It’s not the same.”

“Because we’re not good enough friends?” she demanded, hands tightening into fists.

But Daichi could be just as stubborn, and sometimes when he was stubborn and tired and irritated, he said things he didn’t really mean. “Well,” he rebutted crossly, “we were strangers until just a couple hours ago, Michimiya. I don’t really see how we can even call ourselves _friends.”_

Immediately he regretted the words, especially when hurt flashed through her eyes. The ice pack slipped from her fingers.

Daichi covered half his face, sighing into his hand. “Shit — sorry — Michimiya, I didn’t mean—“

Firm hands on his shoulders gave him pause, before he found himself being toppled back onto his futon. Michimiya pressed the ice pack to his forehead, normally a welcome relief but not so in this situation. Her lips were trembling.

“You should rest,” she told him quietly. Her voice had lost all the cheer from only minutes ago, and Daichi, he was at a loss over what to say to possibly apologize. “I’ll go sit in the living room, then. Call me if you need anything.”

“Wait, Mich…”

But she had turned tail and disappeared from his room before he could take back the words he’d cruelly let slip from his mouth. The silence lingered, before he threw his hands over his face to stifle a heavy groan. Being sick sure had made him a class-A moron.

 

 

 

 

The silence was excruciating.

His thoughts kept drifting to Michimiya; he didn’t hear a peep from the living room, and he wondered what she was doing, what she was _thinking_ right now (about him, and how he’d become a jerk in their time apart maybe).

It was certainly the noise in his own thoughts at the moment. Michimiya was a good friend whether they saw each other every other day or every other year — he knew that. Yet his temper, nasty as it had always been, made these things hard to remember from time to time. He cursed it now, for what it had made him say to a girl who’d spent her entire afternoon off caring for him like he’d donated a kidney and not just contracted the common cold.

_Apologize, you dolt._

Right. His mind was working again, and he should listen to it.

Sitting up seemed like such a challenge when his bones ached, as did the long walk from his futon all the way to the bedroom door, not to mention that darn, never-ending hallway (that he’d only walked the first time because of Michimiya’s support; he really was a jerk).

He’d just made a motion to push himself up, however, when the door slid open by just a fraction and a brown eye peered into the room.

Daichi froze, locking gazes. “Michimiya?”

Her eye flitted away, staring at the floor in shame. “You’re not resting?” she asked in a quiet voice, and when the door opened by just another fraction, he saw her anxiously wiggling her toes again. She was nervous once more about entering his room.

His expression softened. “Come in,” he offered kindly, or as kind as he could manage with his voice so butchered by his sore throat.

She inhaled sharply, seemed to hesitate once, then stepped in fully.

“I…” She wiggled her toes, rubbed her arm, and regretfully gnawed on her lip. “I wanted to apologize.”

He stiffened, perplexed by the sudden turn this conversation had taken. What did Michimiya have to apologize for?

He said it aloud: “There’s nothing for you to apologize for.”

There was a beat, and then she flew to his bedside, wailing, “Oh, but, Sawamura! I know you’re sick and you’re tired and I really shouldn’t have been heckling you over something so dumb and pointless when I’m _supposed_ to be helping take care of you and—!”

He held up one hand, bringing an abrupt halt to her flustered apology, and almost had to smile at the way she fidgeted incessantly when she was nervous.

“That’s not your apology to make, Michimiya,” he told her, firmly. “Being sick wasn’t an excuse to say such a thing. But I’m glad you realized I didn’t mean it.”

Was _glad_ the word? Monumentally relieved, maybe. Michimiya didn’t hate him to the ends of this Earth and somehow that was an even bigger relief than drinking ginger-lemon-honey tea when he had a sore throat.

A sudden fondness came over him, and he swept a lock of her bangs off her forehead.

“I’m… not used to letting others see me when I’m not at a hundred percent,” he admitted, slowly. It was even worse with Michimiya around to see his breakdown, in a way. So maybe it was vain to think that Michimiya should only ever be allowed to see his good sides, but maybe he’d also kind of always liked that sometimes she took his words to heart, with starts glittering in her eyes. And to have a girl who’d once looked up to him now needing to spoon-feed him through his stubbornness had been a sobering change.

But Michimiya was kind, always had been. Her face spoke of instant forgiveness, and her smile even more so, as she told him, “Just because you don’t _feel_ a hundred percent right now doesn’t mean you aren’t. In my eyes.” Strength left her when his mouth parted, her words sinking in, but she persisted and stammered on, “A-Always…”

Face ripening in color then, she tried to push him back onto the futon all up in a fluster. But Daichi caught fast to her wrists, his face hard and set.

“Hey, Michimiya,” he said slowly, bringing her gaze up to look at him. “How should I take that?”

She shrank back under his intense gaze. “U-Um—!”

Her face was getting a little blurry, but he did his best to focus on the flush on her cheeks, on the flash of shyness in her eyes. “Tell me how I should take that so there isn’t any confusion.”

“Y-You can take it any way you want,” she finally wheezed, her voice shrill. “I mean, I’ve always look up to you a lot, Sawamura, and — sometimes I say things without really thinking them through — well, i-it means, um…”

Some sort of hope passed over her features, as if she wondered whether her nonsensical mumbling would be enough to get her out of giving a direct answer. And on any other circumstance Daichi might have cornered her into a proper answer, might have skillfully wheedled out the truth. But currently the room was spinning, only getting faster by the moment, and he knew the excitement of the day had finally caught up with him.

“It’s okay, Michimiya,” he chuckled, releasing her wrist. “I’ll take it to mean good things, yeah?”

“Y-Yes, please,” she agreed weakly.

And another rush of fondness settled into the pit of his stomach, the kind he’d associated with Michimiya since high school, or middle school even. Smiling vaguely, he brushed the bangs off her forehead to rest his hand against the visible surface, acting as a germ barrier when he pressed a kiss to the back of his knuckles.

He heard Michimiya stop breathing, felt that slight hitch that made her shoulders flinch, and pulled back with a grin.

Except her face was close, so close, and his mind was muddled, so muddled, and he wasn’t quite over the rush of affection she had pulsed through his body with just her presence alone. He swayed in.

The brush of lips on lips was gentle and brief.

He heard Michimiya’s quiet squeak when he collapsed back on his futon, pressing the soothing ice pack to his forehead again. Right now all he could think about was bunny apples and grape-flavored gummy vitamins.

 

 

 

 

He slept through the night. It was the first time in a week. No stuffy nose, no flashes of strange dreams, no kicking off his blankets because he was too hot and then shivering back under them. He woke the next morning, showered for the first time in a week, shaved what facial hair he’d let grow in the past two days of his illness, and joined Suga for breakfast at the table rather than angrily sucking down an orange juice box in his germy room.

Suga was deep into conversation with someone on the phone when he emerged, flashing Daichi a quick, relieved smile that he was looking better before turning back to whoever was on the other line. It was fine, since Daichi was well enough to scrounge for food himself anyway.

The carton of leftover congee on the top shelf of the fridge made him smile. In fact, the fridge had been properly stocked up probably for the first time since they had moved in; apples, a bag of ginger, various vegetables that he assumed had also been used to cook the pot of soup he found on the bottom shelf, even an ice pack left in overnight in case it was needed.

Daichi pulled out the soup. His throat felt swell this morning so he didn’t really need it, but he didn’t want to waste Michimiya’s hard work or let her cooking go untasted. After he had popped it into the microwave, he finally turned his attention to Suga’s conversation.

The setter had his lips pursed, the pinched look on his face speaking of worry. “That’s a shame,” he spoke regretfully, and sighed when their eyes met. Daichi was confused. “Well, feel better. I’ll try to drop by later with all this leftover stuff. And I’m sorry.”

By the time he hung up — which took another five minutes or so of him _insisting_ he needed to apologize and the person on the other end apparently insisting he didn’t — Daichi had begun guzzling down the soup.

“Looks like _you’re_ feeling better, at least,” he huffed, and Daichi wondered why that was a bad thing.

“One hundred percent,” he proclaimed, proudly, and was met with a crude look instead of the joyous relief he had expected. “You wanna tell me why you’re mad at me for getting better, Suga?”

“I wouldn’t call this _getting better,_ but more along the lines of passing on your misfortune.”

“I wouldn’t call that an answer, but more along the lines of a cruel, passive-aggressive jab at a person who just won the fight for his life.”

Suga rolled his eyes. _“Obviously_ I’m talking about Michimiya.”

Daichi forcefully swallowed his soup in surprise, blubbering, “What about her?”

“How do you think you got better so fast?” he demanded, knocking a fist to Daichi’s temple. “It’s because you passed on your cold to her instead.”

“I-I did?” Dread pooled in his stomach.

Suga sighed. “Apparently she came down with a fever yesterday and had a very miserable night. She was already looking pretty flushed when I came home yesterday, you know, but she still made sure to stay until I came back so you wouldn’t be alone. I feel bad about asking her to check up on you now, so I was going to drop off some of this stuff she brought—”

“I’ll do it,” Daichi immediately volunteered, rising to his feet. “I’ll go right now.”

His best friend eyed him. “What about morning practice? You’re better enough now to participate.”

“They don’t have to know that.” He shrugged. “Tell them I’m still sick for today.”

 _“You? You’re_ going to skip morning practice?” Suga seemed to have fallen into a state of shock, following him with his stricken gaze as he pulled open the fridge.

Daichi’s only reply was a low hum. “Do you know how to make congee?”

 

 

 

 

It occurred to Daichi that he had never seen Michimiya’s apartment either, nor was he even aware where it was. His phone GPS took him down a most confusing path that involved navigating more streets than was probably necessary, almost as if it didn’t want him to be able to visit again — but Daichi wasn’t going to let months pass by again.

Michimiya herself answered the door at his knock, wearing cute kitten-patterned pajamas, sporting rumpled hair and a bright red nose, and _not_ hissing curses at a friend who had failed to pick up their phone. She did, however, blink up at him in shock.

“S-Sawamura? Why are you here?”

“I’m here to pick up your snotty tissues,” he told her, with a chuckle. “Can I come in?”

She nervously made a path for him, hands wringing. Daichi wondered whether he had come at a bad time, but then, she couldn’t possibly have plans while this sick, right?

“Sorry, I, uh, tried to make you some congee too,” he explained sheepishly, holding out the pot of leftover soup she had left them, “but I’m not so good at cooking and Suga is even worse than me, so all I could bring over was this soup you made last night.”

She perked, not at all bothered as she accepted the pot. “Wow, thanks! Now I won’t have to cook myself anything!”

“Isn’t your roommate taking care of you?” he asked suspiciously, listening for sound in the apartment.

She shook her head, dropping the soup down on the kitchen counter. “Nuh-uh. Mao has work today. She really wanted to stay too, but she needs the money this week so I told her to go ahead and I’d just order food when I got hungry or call Chizuru when I needed something.”

Daichi eyed her closely. She didn’t look _too_ sick, not as bad as he’d had it. Aside from her red nose and her weary eyes, there was nothing else adding to her fatigued state.

A hand shot out to clamp around her forehead, making her jerk from the shock. She was definitely warm, he noted.

“Um, Sawamura…” she began weakly, flushed.

His lips pursed. “You should be in bed. Excitement will only make your fever worse, I know that better than anyone.”

“I was resting before you came, I promise,” she defended herself, still looking at him strangely. “And shouldn’t you be in class?”

He shrugged. “One more missed day won’t kill me. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Um…”

She twisted the hem of her pajama top round her finger, gnawing on her lip and staring down at her wiggling toes. She was nervous for some reason, he realized.

“What’s wrong?”

“Uh, um…” It took a bit more fumbling, before finally she stammered, “I-Is that the only reason you came? To make sure I was okay?”

“Of course. It’s my fault, after all.” She jumped, but then seemed to deflate when he added, “I should have realized hanging around a sick person all day was bound to pass it on.”

“Oh. Yeah.” She managed a weak smile. “I don’t blame you, Sawamura. You didn’t know this would happen. S-So, I guess I’ll, um, go lie down or something— _eep!”_ She fumbled in her next step and would have met the floor did he not catch her about the waist, and the shock seemed to have knocked her breath away. “O-Oh, that wasn’t because of the fever or anything, so you don’t have to…”

He wasn’t buying her brave face, so similar to the one he’d put on yesterday. With a firm set to his jaw, he hooked his arm under her knees and pulled her up into his hold, eliciting a small shriek.

 _“Omigosh!”_ she breathed into his ear, arms reflexively curling around his neck. “S-Sawamura, I really don’t need you to—”

“Room,” he ordered sternly, making a face that said he would not budge. And she knew that face better than anyone, so she weakly pointed to where he needed to go and he made the trek to her bedroom in her place. Kicking open the door, he went as far as to tuck her into bed, as she had done to him.

“Thanks,” she wheezed, pulling her blanket up to her nose.

“Now rest,” he added, rolling over her nearby chair to sink into. “I’ll be here.”

Her eyes popped. “Wha— Sawamura, you really don’t have to stay all day or anything!”

“Look who’s talking, Michimiya.” He smiled. “Don’t worry, I won’t disturb you or anything. I’ll just sit here quietly and you can tell me if you need anything. When you’re sick is the time you need friends around to spoil you.”

She had to look away from his crooked smile, grumbling about having her words thrown back at her but unable to refute. Eventually she pulled her blankets up to cover her face and turned away, and it made him laugh. At least she wasn’t resisting anymore.

He took the time to glance around Michimiya’s room, at how different it was than his own. Unlike his bare cubicle of a room, trinkets littered every available surface she had: charms and keychains, stuffed animals, pieces of stationery. Posters littered the walls, of volleyball players and animals and, surprisingly, pop idols. There were no used tissues for him to pick up, however, since she had dragged a wastebasket beside her bed.

He found himself turning to the mess littering her study area, at her jam-packed calendar (with star stickers marking the important events; she had a practice match coming up soon) and the colorful sticky-notes she had plastered over the wall to serve as reminders to herself.

He was drawn to a corner note, the words on it niggling at some forgotten memory.

_As captains, we are the only ones who can never say that._

He rolled closer to the covered wall, looking upon other familiar words: _even if everyone else tells you it’s definitely impossible,_ and then, _if you don’t go into it intending to win, you’ll never be able to!_

“That’s what I meant, you know.”

He looked over to the bed to find Michimiya peeking at him from under the covers, her smile warm and content.

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” he asked sternly, though truthfully there was no real sternness in him.

She wrinkled her nose. “I can’t sleep when you’re in the room. It makes me feel all embarrassed.”

He almost smiled at how openly honest she was. Almost.

“I don’t know if I’d call this kindness, Michimiya,” he laughed, gesturing towards his words that she had transcribed and hung up on her wall.

“It is to _me._ Those words got me through a lot.”

“You got _yourself_ through a lot,” he insisted.

“See? There you go again, being all kind and encouraging! Without even meaning to!”

He scratched the back of his neck, always a little flustered when it came to unexpected praise. “Anyone could do something like that, though.”

“But it means a lot to me that it came from you,” she told him, gently, her eyes so soft that he remembered the warmth of herbal tea and the sweetness of bunny apples.

Daichi wondered whether it would take another day before his illness would fully pass, before his insides would stop feeling as if they were aflame.

A shuffle of his feet, a clearing of his throat, and then he reasserted, “You should be sleeping.”

“I slept all morning, Sawamura,” she complained, her scrunched face telling of how exactly she felt about that. “It’s really not as bad as you’re thinking. I think I caught like a weaker strain of your cold or something. And besides, it always takes me hours and hours to fall back asleep once I’m awake.”

“There has to be something we can do,” he persisted, looking about her room. A stack of CDs caught his attention. “Listen to some music?”

“Ooh!” The idea seemed to appeal to her, as she gladly laid herself flat underneath her blankets. But then, “Sing to me, please!”

“O-Oh, uh…” He fumbled uselessly with his hands, taken off guard. “That’s not what I… I mean, I don’t really have the best voice for this sort of thing, I think.”

Michimiya peeked through one eye, seeming to realize she’d made things uncomfortable for him, and tried again. “Read to me?”

“Now _that_ I can do.” Michimiya had a shelf on her bookcase dedicated to books that were not textbooks or other school-related things; he moved across the (rather pink) row and plucked one from the lineup at random, and found himself with what looked like one of those sappy romance novels in his hand.

His face heated up. He couldn’t read _this_ aloud. He had no idea this was Michimiya’s taste in the first place.

Any book he picked from the bunch seemed to be along the same lines, and when Michimiya began looking at him in concern, he finally picked the one that looked the least cringe-worthy before wheeling himself to her bedside. She’d told him his week-old sweat gave him character rather than a horrid stench penetrating a ten-mile radius, after all; he could do this much.

“Do the voices too, please,” she requested, settling in.

“…Okay.”

Loudly clearing his throat once, so he would not croak, he flipped open to the first page.

It was a mortifying experience. The cover had told him nothing but lies; he opened to a scandalous scene, one he fumbled over until Michimiya was giggling at his obnoxious flush, and by the time he had reached the shrill mother-in-law’s voice she had burst into uncontained laughter at his deplorable attempt to replicate.

“Hey!” he barked, picking up a pillow and playfully attacking her with it, until they’d entered an impromptu wrestling match and she was wheezing from her laughter more than she was breathing in. “I’m _trying_ here!”

“Okay, okay,” she gasped, trying to catch her breath. “Okay, you’re right, I’m sorry. You tried really hard. But, um, maybe you can go back to your regular voice now?” Her smile was dripping with sugar even when it was clearly meant to tease. “It’s nice enough on its own anyway.”

He resumed in a low grumble, muttering the romantic lines with the grouchiest face. It made her smile.

Finally they eased into their roles for the afternoon, Michimiya properly playing the part of the patient and capping her energy so she could drift into sleep as he wanted, and Daichi reading her embarrassingly sappy novel in a low, soothing tone to help her get there. When the calmness had become dense, when he thought she might have finally dozed off, her hand suddenly pushed its way out from under her blanket.

He stared at her open palm.

“It’s my day to be spoiled, remember?” Michimiya mumbled, smiling hazily as she slipped into sleep.

Daichi watched her peaceful face, the curve of her eyelashes and her bottom lip which had a habit of sticking out even in sleep. Her hand had already relaxed when she fell into unconsciousness. Still, he hesitated once, fingers curling and uncurling, before he eased his palm flat against hers.

 

 

 

 

It was late in the night when Michimiya’s roommate finally returned.

Daichi recognized her: the blonde who had been vice-captain at Karasuno and who worked at the ramen place they had treated Suga to on his birthday several months ago (the last time he had seen Michimiya for a long time to come). She returned looking weary, and was visibly surprised to find him lounging on the couch. Daichi rose along with her brow.

“She’s sleeping,” he told her, shuffling awkwardly. “She seems to be doing okay.”

For the most part the day had been uneventful. Michimiya had dozed for a good hour after that excruciating bedtime story ordeal. Daichi had held her hand for as long as he had been able before his chest had started to ache in this constricting way and he’d needed to walk it off, but when she awoke she didn’t seem disappointed not to find his hand in hers, nor did she seem to remember her last request at all. That somehow had just doubled the ache.

He’d tried, in a vain and embarrassing attempt, to boil her the herbal tea she had made for him, but his kitchen skills were abysmal and Michimiya had ended up crawling out of bed to _teach_ him for the next time. At least he had managed to do one thing right when he’d picked her up sweet rice crackers on the way over, for they’d shared them against the window sill and watched the sun set until Michimiya had obligingly crawled back into bed.

He’d just been about to send Suga an update, in fact. _She’s fine. Full of energy. She’s resting now._

“Thanks for taking care of her,” her roommate said, shrugging off her sweater. “Getting Yui to sleep when she’s sick and restless is like doing miracle work. But I guess, since it _is you_ and all…”

The question in his polite smile went unanswered. She didn’t seem like someone who was very open to sharing secrets in the first place.

“Well, since you’re here I guess I can go,” he reasoned, checking for his phone and his wallet before making for the door. They tip-toed around each other, so as not to wake Michimiya. He had only just grabbed his sneakers when the blonde roommate stopped him.

“Hey, about that thing you did to Yui yesterday,” she began, eyes narrowing suspiciously. “What exactly were you playing at?”

Daichi frowned, head tilting to give action to his confusion. “What thing?”

The blonde’s eyes narrowed further, until they were practically scowling themselves to match her bared mouth, but his clueless expression really was genuine and even she could see that. He had no idea what she was talking about.

Covering her face with her hands, she groaned, _“Unbelievable._ Are you serious? She has the worst taste, _I swear.”_

“I’m sorry, did I… do something to Michimiya?” he asked, his gut twisting at the thought. He didn’t _remember_ anything out of the ordinary — nothing but vitamins shaped like bears, unwound game consoles, and a petty argument that had made him swear he would never forget Michimiya again.

She rolled her eyes, batting him towards the door. “Forget it. It’s not my place to say anything, I guess.”

He made for the door in a bit of a dazed state, but had not made it very far when a small _creak_ had them both pausing. Michimiya had poked her head out of her room, looking into the hall curiously.

“Oh, is Sawamura leaving?” she noticed, rushing out. “I wanted to say goodbye!”

“You should be asleep,” he told her, sternly, fondly, even though he turned at the doorstep for a proper farewell. Her blonde roommate gave them both a knowing look before retreating into her own room, giving them privacy.

“I just wanted to say thanks,” she breathed, fidgeting, “for taking care of me. And be careful on your way home.”

Her toothy grin overtook his vision, right before she pressed her palm to his forehead and then her lips followed after it, balancing on her toes to hold herself there.

A lump formed in Daichi’s throat.

“I’ll talk to you soon, yeah?” she asked eagerly, pulling away.

He managed a nod, happy when it made her perk, before finally it was time for him to go. Michimiya waved him off cheerfully, standing at her door right until he disappeared down the steps and out of view, and Daichi had to smile as he took in the night sky.

He’d forgotten, after so long a time apart, how good it always left him feeling to have been in Michimiya’s presence. She was like Hinata in that way, sweet and enthusiastic and like a healing figure. Just two days by her side and already he felt like he’d been renewed both inside and out.

Her kiss drifted through his mind, when a star shimmered and he was reminded of that shimmery feeling in his chest when her face had drawn close. It niggled at some forgotten memory too, something forgotten in a haze of cloudy thoughts, perhaps from a long time ago.

He could hear Suga’s voice now: _These things mean more to girls than volleyball obsessed idiots like you._

He chuckled at the words, so harsh and cutting even years later.

And it would still take a couple more streets, a bit more aimless wandering, for the realization to douse him with reality. But he spotted another star glittering in the distance, thought of kisses and biting words and Michimiya’s doe-like eyes, and almost tripped on his next step.

“Holy shit, I kissed Michimiya.”

The memory crashed into him, so clear now he wondered how he had ever forgotten. He’d kissed the back of his own hand, and then he’d caught her lips in a peck before promptly clocking out for the remainder of the night and probably worrying Michimiya into an even worse state of sickness than what he had passed on to her.

And then the feelings came roaring over him full force, like they had been numbed at the time from his cold but had lied dormant until it was time to unleash them all at once. He had kissed Michimiya and it was an even better feeling than waking up that morning at one-hundred percent, better than rice crackers and sunsets seen from window sills and kisses in sappy romance novels that could never compare to the real thing.

Suddenly that aching in his chest — the thrumming of his heart, the beat out of rhythm, oxygen hard to take in, that soul _crushing_ pit of longing in his stomach that he hadn’t recognized — made clear so many things he had been missing lately.

He had to see Michimiya again.

He spun on his heel and hurtled back the way from which he had come.

Her roommate answered the door, her brow lost in her bangs once again, and he stumbled over his greeting. “I… Mich… is she still awake?”

She wordlessly gave him a path, not minding when he barreled through. In fact, the knowing gleam in her eyes might have embarrassed him on any other day, but tonight his sights were set on Michimiya’s bedroom and nothing else.

She was just climbing into bed when he barged in, eliciting a small squeak of surprise. Her wide eyes rounded further when she recognized him, breathing hard at her doorway, and pressed her palm flat against her chest in relief. “S-Sawamura? Oh, my _gosh,_ you _really_ scared me, why are you here—”

Daichi crossed the room in two strides, took her flushed cheeks into his hands, and kissed her fully on the mouth.

Something within him roared its approval. He felt overcome with something primal; a rush of adrenaline pumped his blood faster, and the kiss turned harder, more intense, until he had taken Michimiya into his arms and they’d stumbled so that her knees hit the back of her bed. He didn’t let them fall.

Michimiya, who had gone limp after the initial squeak, stunned into paralysis, finally seemed to catch up to speed with what had occurred — they were _kissing_ in her _bedroom_ — and jilted herself away from his grip.

“Wai… Sawam — _gross!”_ she whined, pulling back.

He was breathing hard, still feeling that rush that was making it hard to focus on anything that wasn’t Michimiya’s mouth. But his grin was crooked and rumpled in a content way, like he’d found all the answers he had come to seek. “My kiss is gross?”

“No, _my_ kiss is gross,” she wailed, pounding a weak fist against his chest. “I’m all sick and gross.”

“It’s okay, I can’t catch it from you since I just got over a cold, too,” he promptly excused himself, and then leaned in for another kiss.

Michimiya leaned away, her face red. “W-Why are you kissing me anyway?”

“Because I really liked it the first time,” he told her, enjoying her adorable double take. But then he ran his fingers across her cheek, and admitted, “And because I really like you, too.”

And he knew it was the genuine truth as he said it — that Michimiya showing up at his door after months apart had stirred realizations in him, that gummy vitamins tasted good because she’d picked them out for him with care, that the apple that was the sweetest of the bunch was the one she had carved for his sake, that pride wasn’t anything that mattered when Michimiya’s happiness was on the line. That he’d spoil her every day if she asked for it. That he wanted practice at holding her hand for so long that his chest didn’t ache from just the thought.

That he wasn’t letting her go.

He swooped in again.

To his frustration, she also leaned away again before he could touch lips.

“R-Really?” she demanded, quiet and unsure.

“Really.”

Another blatant attempt at a kiss was met with resistance.

“Sawamura, stop that!” she whined, when he kept looking for an open path to her lips. “I’m still sick. I don’t want to kiss like _this!_ Look what it did the first time—” She gasped. “Oh, _god,_ you don’t think we’re _cursed_ or something, are we? Cursed to have terrible kisses!”

“Let me prove to you we’re not,” he replied, his voice husky. But his final attempt at catching a kiss had Michimiya firmly detaching herself from his arms.

“I need to _rest,”_ she said firmly, though the affection in the lines of her face was impossible for her to completely hide. “There will be plenty of time for kisses another day, Sawamura, when I’m not all germy and gross and a health hazard.”

Daichi sighed. This morning he had woken up thinking that damned cold would finally stop making him miserable, and yet here it was again, rearing its ugly head. And right during his first grand confession as well.

“Rain check, then,” he relented, and had the pleasure of seeing her cheeks flush further. Being so brazen with Michimiya would be fun, he realized. “Feel better.”

“I’m already almost back to my top strength!” she assured him, proudly patting a flexed arm under the pattern of kittens on her sleeve.

Daichi smiled as he finally departed a second time, poking Michimiya’s forehead when she tried to follow him out into the chilly air. She settled for waving enthusiastically right as he descended the steps to her apartment. The night air was still chilly, but he felt warm everywhere Michimiya had touched his skin.

He was halfway home already when his phone suddenly vibrated in his pocket. A part of him hoped that it was Michimiya, wanting that rain check on their kiss or maybe even wishing him goodnight.

Instead, Daichi realized he had forgotten to send Suga an update when he was met with a worried inquiry. _How’s Michimiya?_

Wonderful. Beautiful. Like the sun that could eclipse the moon, which only paled in comparison.

 _Terrible,_ was his reply. _She wouldn’t even let me kiss her a second time._

**Author's Note:**

> this is my entry for the daiyui valentine's countdown, day one! thank you so much to all of you who are taking part C:


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